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“A ventriloquist?” Brittany questions.
“Yeah. He’s hilarious; I’ve seen him a few times on TV.”
“I’ll take your word on it for now.” I laugh. “This is a big place,” she adds, glancing around.
“He’s famous and good at what he does.”
We sit quietly, taking in the place and the people until the show starts. It takes the guy less than a minute to crack a joke that has the entire place erupting in laughter. Damn. I’ve seriously missed hearing her laugh. This may just be the best idea I’ve had in a long while. Ten minutes in, and we’re both relaxed, laughing, and it’s almost like the past year was never spent apart.
Unfortunately, the night has to end. Brittany seems fine as we leave the show, but I know the exact moment the tiredness of a night out hits her. She slumps in her seat, rests her head against the window, and closes her eyes. A small sigh leaves her.
“It won’t take long to get you home,” I say softly.
“Thanks for making me come.”
I smile at how she worded it. “Any time. Think you’ll want to go out with me again?”
“Eventually. Maybe. Don’t push it.”
I laugh, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. “I love you, Britt.” I don’t even have to look to know she tenses. I hate, hate, hate her reaction. The night was going so well and in one breath, I’ve tainted it. And that is my fault. It’s hard to know when to hold back and when to push and be honest with her.
When we get to her apartment complex, I park. Before I can get out of the car, she rushes to say, “You don’t have to walk me up.”
“Okay.”
She glances at me with a sad smile. “Thanks.”
Leaning over the console, I gently kiss her cheek. “Good night, Brittany.”
“Night, Trace,” she mutters before making a break for it.
“Wanna go out with me for lunch?”
I turn my head away from my computer and over to where my co-worker, Melissa, is leaning against my desk. She’s a legit work friend. We share some personal things about our lives in order to vent, but we don’t know each other’s deepest darkest s
ecrets either. We both started working around the same time, which is what helped us bond. I rarely turn down a lunch invite.
“Sure. Let me wrap up this email,” I answer.
“Great. I’ll grab my things and come back.”
By the time she does just that, I’ve sent my email and have gathered my purse. We mostly talk about work on the way to our favorite Mexican restaurant. After placing our drink orders, Melissa folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head.
“Something is off with you. What’s going on?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Something with Quinn?” she guesses, not letting the issue go. She has a bad habit of that.
“He broke up with me not too long ago, so no, but um.” I take a deep breath. “My ex-boyfriend who broke up with me last year wants to get back together again.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Well, are you going to?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve agreed that he can take me out on dates, but we and our past are complicated. Not to mention the fact that I don’t know if I can forgive him for hurting me before. We really don’t need to talk about it more.” Melissa doesn’t know about my anxiety or depression, and I’d rather not discuss it over lunch, or at all for that matter.
“Are you sure? You know I’m a good wall to bounce things off of.”
I smile. “I know. Thank you for offering. How are things with your love life?”
